


Lost and Found

by Sumatra



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumatra/pseuds/Sumatra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Beatrice broke up with Ben six months ago, after moving to Wellington with Meg and beginning a new life for herself - a life that didn't seem to fit her relationship with Ben. When Ben shows up in Wellington, Beatrice is torn between going backwards or moving on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Beatrice got home from work to a note taped to the fridge door (never mind the abundance of available fridge magnets), Meg’s messy handwriting distinct even from the doorway.

_On a date – see you tomorrow morning ;)_

Yes, she’d gone so far as to draw an actual winky face. Beatrice rolled her eyes at nobody as she opened the fridge door and grabbed the bowl of pasta she had left over from the previous night. It was ridiculously cold in Wellington, so she figured she’d snuggle up on the sofa under several blankets and watch bad TV until she fell asleep.

She saw the second note when she shut the fridge door and went to get herself a glass of water.

 _Check your voicemail!_ _(you can thank me later)_

Beatrice glanced at the clock; 6:43pm. She’d left work almost two hours ago, but her boss would be there until seven – maybe there was a message about some deadline she had forgotten about? Whatever it was, she wasn’t sure she felt mature enough to handle it just yet.

Five minutes of flicking through all available channels convinced her that there was nothing worth watching on TV. She ate the pasta in silence and checked her phone; three texts, all from Hero, asking her what she wanted for her birthday in two weeks. She sent her a quick reply, promising that she didn’t care and whatever Hero got her would be wonderful and perfect anyway.

It was strange having the house to herself. Beatrice felt bored already – she’d been working so hard all week she’d barely had a moment to herself, and even though it had only been a week, it was almost as if she’d forgotten how to relax. Without Meg around to send her off into hysterics, it wasn’t exactly easy either.

She figured she had a sort of ‘work hangover’, from too many days spent staring at computer screens, replying to emails and answering phonecalls. Not to mention the hours of meetings. After a year out of school completely clueless as to what she wanted to do with her life, she’d decided to go into journalism – that way, she could _get paid_ to rant about serious topics and become famous worldwide for the quality of her opinions.

Ok, she wasn’t quite there yet. Actually, she’d only just graduated from shitty unpaid internship to actual paying job, but it was beginning to feel like a proper start. She was already in talks to cover a few more important stories in the coming weeks, and this week had consisted of a lot of last minute preparation.

Hence the stress, and the overlong work hours, which were hopefully not a permanent fixture – otherwise she would end up in hospital some time in the next few weeks, or a mortuary if Meg went through with her threat to “kill you if you leave me alone with your cat for one more evening.”

Speaking of Victor, Beatrice’s cat was nowhere to be seen. He was nine months old, a rescue cat so she’d had him for five, and did not get on with her flatmate. Beatrice thought he was a sweetie, but then she’d always loved cats and knew how to deal with his ‘presents’ of dead mice on the doorstep. She was currently in the process of campaigning to get a second cat, but so far Meg left the room every time she brought it up.

She got up, and put the pasta bowl in the sink, along with a couple of empty glasses of wine and the bowls from breakfast. Meg did her fair share of the housework so she couldn’t really complain, but she did always get stuck with the washing up.

At the same time she put the kettle on to make herself a cup of tea. They had two types of tea in the house: Earl Grey and English Breakfast, both leftover from her relationship with Ben, which she was still trying to avoid thinking about. They’d broken up six months ago, not long after she’d moved, and although she’d initially sworn off tea (again), declaring it a mix of ‘wet cardboard’ and ‘dirt’, she’d managed to persuade herself that their supplies needed using up – and, come on, she could be more mature than her fourteen-year-old self about this.

The kettle squealed as it came to a boil and she barely managed to pour it without burning herself.She and Meg were beginning to have money now they’d been in Wellington for almost a year and both of them had paying jobs; but they’d bought it (along with most of their other, now failing, appliances) in the first few weeks when, between rent and meals and everything else, they were lucky to have spare change.

She stared at the fridge as she took slow, contemplative sips. The last few boxes had only been emptied a week ago (an impressive feat of procrastination, even for the two of them). She’d stuck a few pictures to the fridge door, trying to give the kitchen a more welcoming feel. There was one of the four of them – Meg, Ursula, her and Hero – on Halloween, all covered in an alarming amount of fake blood. Balthazar and Pedro had sent them a few snaps from their most recent trip to London, of which she’d deemed several appalling pub selfies the perfect way to remember her friends in their absence. Even Georgia and – no, Verges and Dogberry – had their own place in the top left corner, cosplaying as Buffy and Willow from one of their weird geek conventions.

The only person conspicuously missing was Ben. And Claudio, if he still counted, but she hadn’t spoken to him since moving away and as far as she was aware, only the boys still kept in touch with him.

Beatrice sighed. Even on her own in the flat, without Meg’s constant not-so-subtle hints, she somehow found her thoughts drifting to Ben.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. They’d had several awkward encounters since breaking up six months ago, where they’d managed to establish that they could at least still be in the same room together. It wasn’t as if their breakup had been messy, and she couldn’t ask her friends to take sides in what wasn’t really an argument. She’d resigned herself to seeing him, which had meant three months of trying to maintain some version of friendship, cheesy pictures on the fridge and all. Eventually it had sort of slipped, but if she was honest with herself, even enemies would be better than this weird sadness barrier that now existed between the two of them.

The day she took them down, and buried them at the back of her wardrobe, Meg had come home to find her crying on the sofa. It had been after her first and only argument with Ben since they’d broken up.

_“Oh, Beatrice.”_

The two of them had cuddled under the same blanket, watched cheesy movies and eaten ice cream. She managed to go three hours without thinking about Ben.

Her record today was five. So, things were getting better, if slowly.

She turned to the answer machine. She was too wiped out to decipher Meg’s cryptic tone, and therefore decide whether or not she actually wanted to listen to whatever it was – in the last two months, her friends had signed her up to three separate dating websites ( _that she knew of_ ) and as a result she had been subject to a barrage of text messages and voicemails from complete strangers she had no interest in meeting.

“BEEP. You have three saved messages.”

Beatrice sunk back into the sofa cushions and closed her eyes.

“First message. BEEP. ‘Hi Meg, it’s Tom. Um, I know this might sound kind of… sudden? But do you want to come over tonight? My roommate’s out of town and I’ve got no other plans. What I’m saying is, come over if you want. Bye.’ BEEP.”

 _How romantic,_ Beatrice thought dryly. Maybe she was being a bit harsh – Tom sounded like a really nice guy and he made Meg really happy, which she deserved, after everything that had happened with Robbie. And ‘romantic’ wasn’t really Meg’s thing, either – one of the many things they had in common, and something that had helped get her through her breakup with Ben.

“Second message.” There was a long uncomfortable silence after the beep, where she could hear someone breathing down the phone. Then, “ ‘Bea, hi. Beatrice.’ “ Beatrice felt herself tense up all over and clumsily slop tea on her shirt. “ ‘It’s me. Ben. Benedick. In case you, er, forgot.’ ”

_“You can thank me later,” Meg, really?_

“ ‘Actually, maybe this is a really bad idea. I’m sorry, can you just forget I ever left this?’ BEEP.”

If the flat had felt quiet before, it was empty of anything now. Beatrice downed the last of her tea, ignoring the fact that it was still too hot, and placed a hand on the arm rest to steady herself.

Ben was calling her. Why would Ben be calling her? She remembered the last time they’d talked. Properly talked, that is. The last time they’d just talked had been three weeks ago at Pedro’s birthday party.

 

_“Can you guys be civil?”_

_“We’ll be fine.” She brushed him away dismissively. “If Ben even shows up.”_

_“I got here before you did!” The familiarity of the voice behind her made her jump, the tone of indignation even more so. Ben looked immediately uncomfortable when she made eye contact, and that flicker of their old dynamic was gone as soon as it had sparked up._

_“That is_ so _not true.”_

_“Actually, Beatrice, he helped me set up.” Pedro sounded guilty._

_“It’s true,” said Balthazar, appearing out of nowhere and giving Pedro a quick kiss on the cheek. Their eyes met for a second, lingering. Bea and Ben stared at each other’s feet. Pedro and Balthazar weren’t big on public displays of affection, unless you counted eye sex, in which case they were practically pornographic. “Did you manage to get the beer?”_

_“Oh, yeah right. It’s in the hallway.”_

_“Great.”_

_“I’ll go get it. It probably needs to go in the fridge for a bit.” Ben looked eager for a chance to get away from her, almost as soon as he'd seen her._

And that was it. A thrilling minute of awkwardness. Even their teenage selves, dealing with their feelings by flat-out denial, would have been appalled.

“Third message.” Beatrice considered turning off the answer machine. And yet she was frozen to the sofa cushions.

“ ‘No, I’m sorry, but – this is Ben, again, by the way.’ “ As if she couldn’t recognise his voice… What a loser. “ ‘I’m actually in Wellington until Monday – staying with Pedrazar. That’s how I got your number, which… I really need to talk to you. Can we maybe meet for coffee, or something? Give me a call. My number hasn’t changed.’ BEEP.“

Beatrice sat there in stunned silence. The last time they’d actually talked, as in more than a few awkward words here or there, had been nearly four months ago. Even thinking about it was awful.

 

_“Bea, wait, I need to talk to you.” She was on her way back into the house, and had to turn around to hear him properly. The two of them, as the only sober ones, had ended up with the task of driving to the delivery place and picking up the pizzas._

_“Haven’t we talked enough?”_

_"Please, Bea.”_

_Reluctantly, she got back in the car. It was dark enough that she could look straight ahead without looking at_ anything _, and in of the corner of her eye he was just a blurry shadow._

_“What’s happened to us?” He sounded so sad it almost broke her heart._

_“We broke up.”_

_“I know – but I thought we’d stay friends.” Even though she couldn’t see him completely, she could feel him looking at her. “At least that. Honestly I didn’t even think we’d stay broken up.”_

_“We want different things, Ben.”_

_“Different how?”_

_The last thing Beatrice wanted to do, late on a Saturday night, completely uncomfortably sober, was go over in her head the reasons why she’d broken up with the love of her life. “Just different. You want kids, I don’t. I took a gap year and you went to university – that was hard enough – and now we’re doing completely different jobs, in different_ cities _for fuck’s sake. We can never agree on anything!”_

_“None of that stuff ever mattered to me. Who wants to agree all the time?”_

_“That’s not my point,” she said quickly, before she could say what she was thinking, which was,_ nobody, that would be boring as fuck. _“I kept thinking it had to end someday. Eventually one of us would want something_ so out there _that the other one just couldn’t… I had to get out before it got too late. Ben, it hurt like hell just ending it now, ok? It_ hurts _like fucking hell. If I’d waited any longer, I couldn’t have done it. And when it happened…”_

 _“You broke up with me because you thought it was_ inevitable _?”_

_“Ben, I –“_

_“That is such bullshit.”_

_“Bene_ dick _.”_

_That shut him up. The two of them sat there for a minute in uncomfortable silence. The smell of pizza made it worse, somehow surreal. The others would probably stumble out in a few minutes and demand to know where the food was and why it was taking so long._

_“Beatrice, I love you. I’m in love with you. You can’t do this.”_

_She could feel herself starting to cry, and_ this wasn’t fair, damn it! _He couldn’t tell her what she could or couldn’t do, couldn’t make her change her mind about something that she’d spent weeks agonising over, weeks crying over._

_“I already have, Ben. I’m sorry.”_

_“Just tell me that you love me too.” Teenage Beatrice would have laughed at how pathetic he sounded (and secretly wanted to kiss him). Early-twenties Beatrice felt sad and horrible and wished she still had the luxury of that denial._

_“It’s not that easy.”_

_“What does that mean? Either you love me or you don’t. But…” and he took a sharp breath, “If you felt the way about me, the way I feel about you… I would never let you go.”_

_The_ unfairness _of everything he was saying made her want to scream, but before she could say anything else, there was a tap on the window. Pedro’s face loomed out of the darkness. “Do you have food or what?”_

_Ben got out of the car and she saw him disappear into the house with the pizza. She wound down the window and Pedro stuck his head through._

_“You ok, Bea? You look kind of rough.”_

_“Actually, you know what, I’m feeling really ill. So I think I’m just going to head home.”_

_"Are you sure you’re alright?”_

_“Yeah, I just need some painkillers and some sleep. I’ll give you a ring in the morning, promise.”_

_Pedro seemed satisfied. He gave her a clumsy kiss on the cheek and smiled, before shuffling back into the house._

_Beatrice waited another minute before pulling away. It wasn’t exactly safe to cry and drive, but it was 3am and the only other drivers on the road were night-shift workers and random old people. She let herself sob as she pulled in to her apartment block, and sat in the parked car with her head on the steering wheel._

_“I do love you, dickface. That’s the problem.”_

But now? Ben was in Wellington. Ben wanted to see her, had said more to her in two voicemail messages than in the last few months combined.

She counted to ten in her head. It was something Hero had taught her – Hero who, in less than five years, had gone from lost and hurt back to one of the most self-possessed people she knew, even more so than before the Claudio-incident (and yet somehow more romantic and optimistic than ever. Not that she wasn’t pleased that her cousin had recovered so effectively, just more than a little baffled.)

List ten reasons why meeting Ben would be a bad idea:

1) You haven’t spoken to him (not really) in four months.  
2) He broke your heart.  
3) You’ve spent all this time trying to move on, do you really want to drag yourself back there again – for _coffee_ ?!  
4) Seriously, do not put yourself through this.  
5) Ok, you broke his heart too. But you were the one doing the mature thing, saving both of you from even worse pain.  
6) Except how could it have felt worse than it did? But – no – this is meant to be a reason! And it could. Could you really imagine future-you going through all that, for a relationship doomed to fail?  
7) You have no idea what he wants to talk about.  
8) What if he wants to get back together? No, that’s ridiculous. And you don’t want that.  
9) Yes you do. You’re in love with him. Which is another reason why seeing him would be a terrible idea, because you need to _get over him_ and _move on_ .  
10) You’re tired and that’s making it hard to come up with any more reasons.

By the time she’d reached the tenth reason, Beatrice was in her coat, shoes on and keys in her hand. She could walk to Pedro and Balthazar’s in twenty minutes, drive over there in five. She had no idea what she was doing, but she felt herself overtaken by a sort of thoughtless determination.

She was going to see Ben. She could make up the rest as she went along.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safe to say this has already been cannonballed by LLL. So it's an AU now :P

“Wait,” said Pedro, a note of disbelief in his voice. “You’re moving to Wellington?”

“Yep,” said Ben. “In less than a week.” He looked up as Balthazar walked into the room and sat down on the sofa next to Pedro, who was still staring. “I know that sounds insane but I’ve been thinking about it a lot longer than that.”

He wasn’t lying. Ever since Beatrice broke up with him because their lives were “too different”, he’d been growing steadily unhappier in Auckland.

He had Claudio, although their friendship had never been quite the same after the whole Hero debacle and he had to resist warning any prospective future girlfriends away, even five years later. His university friends were all beginning to move away – some as far as America – and while Hero and the others often stopped by to see him or Leo, there was always that conspicuous absence of Bea – or worse, her sour and gloomy presence.

Contrary to her suggestion that they would stay friends after breaking up, they had hardly spoken since. It was worse than being at each other’s throats all the time – at least then he could hear her voice, have her attention for more than a few seconds. The two of them barely exchanged small talk and he could feel her resolute efforts to ignore him whenever they got within a few feet of each other.

Eventually, he had just stopped trying. Bea – _Beatrice_ had obviously moved on and he should too. Until he accepted that they were broken up, for good, he would avoid her completely and focus wholeheartedly on his job instead.

A plan which would have been great, except for the fact that his boss had decided out of the blue to promote him, and move him to their Wellington branch.

 

_“What do you say? I know it’s short notice – and it potentially involves a permanent move – but we really need you over there.”_

_Ben – expert at concealing severe panic – nodded weakly. “I mean, I’ll have to think about it. But I don’t see why not.”_

_He_ did _see why not. Why not was loud and blonde and hadn’t spoken to him in five months._

_“How long… when do you want me there?”_

_“Ideally in a month’s time. We’d help you find an apartment, and of course we’re talking about a pay raise.”_

_“Great!” He hoped she hadn’t noticed his voice jump an octave higher._

_“You’d be working on one of our newer models. We want it ready to sell by this time next year, which means working to a tight deadline, and I need someone with experience in game design who can oversee it.”_

_“And that’s me?”_

_“Right.” His boss was looking at him expectantly. She had somehow managed to make a move across the country sound like a change in office furniture._

_“And how long do I have to –”_

_“– think about it? How about until the end of today.”_

 

And here he was, a month later, staying with Pedro and Balthazar as the last of his furniture was moved into his new apartment.

“It makes sense,” said Balthazar slowly. “Although I don’t know why you couldn’t have just _told_ us this wasn’t a ‘work trip’.”

“Technically it is.” He shrugged. “And I wanted to wait and do it in person.”

The three of them were silent for a minute, each lost in their own thoughts. There was another reason Ben hadn’t told them, which was that Pedro was incapable of keeping anything secret from Bea, and he knew that they all saw each other regularly. It would have been unfair to tell him something and then prevent him telling his (other) best friend, and by extension this meant keeping it from Balthazar, who was incapable of keeping secrets from Pedro.

He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he wasn’t ready for Bea to know yet. Not that he had much choice in the matter now.

Balthazar and Pedro exchanged a glance – _are you thinking what I’m thinking?_ Ben didn’t have to guess what they were thinking.

“Does you-know-who know?” said Pedro hesitantly.

“She’s not _Voldemort_ ,” said Ben. “Although I understand the confusion.” He immediately regretted it – not because it was harsh, but because it sounded too similar to the kind of thing he would have said while they were dating, or before. One of the weird things about breaking up with someone is not being able to say mean things about them anymore – not in a way that doesn’t immediately make any situation awkward.

Neither of them picked him up on it, though. Instead, Balthazar added, “You should really be the one to tell her.”

“I don’t know.” Ben had imagined this conversation going numerous ways, none of them good. “If she cared, she wouldn’t have spent the last six months ignoring me. I don’t want to make things worse than they already are – and I _don’t_ want her to think I moved here thinking we would get back together or anything.”

Another shared glance, this time one that Ben couldn’t read.

“Does that mean you want us to tell her?”

“You can’t avoid her forever.”

Pedro and Balthazar had been together since the end of high school – one of those ‘defying the odds’ couples that Ben had once thought would be him and Beatrice. The unfortunate side effect of this was that they had had five years to master the art of silent communication – sometimes talking to them was more like talking to a single person. He and Beatrice used to joke that one day they would completely merge – the mighty Pedrazar, all round great guy(s).

“I can try.”

Pedro rolled his eyes. “Wellington isn’t _that_ big and she lives right near the centre.”

“I will be at work all the time. I’m English, we’re practically designed to stay out of the sun, so it’s not like I need to go _outside_. Except to the zoo, of course, but –”

“I don’t think Wellington Zoo has any flamingos,” said Balthazar, getting out his phone to double check.

“What? Why am I even moving here?!”

 

 

Pedrazar may have been an irritatingly happy couple, but over the next couple of days, they came with Ben to help him set stuff up in his new apartment, and gave him a walking tour of the city. If this meant gagging into nearby bins every few minutes as the two of them did that lovey-dovey thing with their eyes, fine. He wouldn’t say it to their faces, but he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed them all, stuck on his own in Auckland – and after the disappointing news about the zoo (how could he live in a city which barely acknowledged the existence of the most majestic creatures on the planet?), he was beginning to feel good about moving to Wellington again.

Not that he missed _everything_ about them.

Pedro mostly worked from home, which Ben was unable to take seriously – surely you can write hard-hitting local news and play Mario Kart at the same time? – to the point where Pedro had actually kicked him out.

Balthazar was no better, and had point blank refused to tell Ben the location of his recording studio, claiming that he wouldn’t shut up long enough for anything to be recorded.

This left him alone in a city he didn’t know all too well (even in spite of the walking tours) on a Friday afternoon, without an apartment to go to (unless he wanted to be faced with unpacked boxes, which he didn’t) or anyone to talk to.

Except – was he imagining things, or was someone calling his name?

It took five seconds for that question to be answered, for Meg to tap (shove) him on the shoulder, and almost send him sprawling on the ground.

He managed to avoid that particular humiliation, but people around them were staring.

“What are you doing here?” Meg was laughing, which made it worse.

“I live here, actually.” He sounded… well, huffy, which only made her laugh harder.

“No, seriously.”

“I _seriously_ live here. I’m staying with Pedro and Balthazar while the last of my stuff gets moved in.” He rubbed his shoulder, trying not to appear too obviously in pain.

She stopped laughing. “Does Bea know?”

“No and –”

“Are you planning on _telling_ her?”

“I don’t –”

“You realise she is going to find out? Even if you don’t, and you’ve somehow managed to convince those two idiots not to, I’m not lying to my best friend.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “I’m serious. I like you, Ben, but Bea comes first.”

He sighed. “Yeah, alright. Can you give me a couple of days, though? I think I should tell her in person.”

“Damn right you should. But if you haven’t said anything by Monday, I’m not waiting around.”

He nodded, feeling significantly less freaked out. Meg could be frightening, not that he would ever tell her that, but he could see that she believed him, and her voice had softened.

She glanced around at the passers-by, some of whom were still watching them, and rolled her eyes. “You’d think they had nothing better to do. Come on, then – since you’re here.” She started walking off in the direction of the nearest café. “Let’s catch up.”

 

 

“First things first, I’m not telling you anything about Bea. You want information about her life, you can ask her yourself.”

Ben nodded, feeling mildly affronted. “I’m not stalking her.”

“Yeah, whatever. So why are you here?”

“Work stuff. I work for this video game company. Our thing is that we have a no graphic violence policy – my boss started the company wanting to make feminist action games and it sort of went from there.”

“Nice. Geeky, but solid.”

“What about you?”

“I’m training to be a social worker. I do night shifts at a women’s shelter and I run this after-school programme teaching kids to read.”

Ben couldn’t help feeling surprised at this. Not that Meg was doing something that cool, but more, “How did I not know this?”

She laughed. “I guess you and Bea really haven’t been talking.”

“No, guess not.”

“She’s not pissed at you,” Meg said after a pause, breaking her own promise. “More… sad. I don’t know.” She bit her lip, looking unusually unsure of herself. “Bea would kill me if she knew I was asking this, but what happened with you guys? Every time I try and talk to her, she just clams up. I swear you were going to stay friends.”

Ben tried to ignore the million thoughts that raced through his brain in response to that. Beatrice was sad? That meant she missed him, right? At least it might mean she felt as rubbish as he did about the fact that they hadn’t been talking. A couple of months ago the thought of being friends felt like being stabbed in the heart, but now he’d take anything over radio silence.

“I’m honestly still not sure why she broke up with me.”

Meg surprised him further by saying, “She broke up with you? Are you kidding? From the way she acted, I was convinced it was the other way around. Or at least mutual.”

Definitely not mutual. Ben was almost embarrassed thinking about it.

 

 

_“Can you believe it?” He’d been bouncing – actually bouncing – as the taxi pulled in to the parking lot outside her apartment block. Bea paid the driver and the two of them began walking towards the lobby._

_He was buzzing – a little tipsy from the couple of drinks he’d had at the restaurant – and now this phone call on the way home. “They_ loved _my idea! She actually said that – loved_ , _not liked. They want me to come and work for them fulltime – an actual paying job.”_

_“That’s great, Ben.” Her voice sounded distant, but he attributed that to concentration – she was fiddling with her keys, cursing as she tried to isolate the one she wanted and stick it in the lock._

_“It’s more than great, it’s amazing. Get this; not only does_ “Mutant Killer Flamingos” _come out next year, but they already want me to start thinking about doing a sequel. I’m thinking_ “Revenge of the Horse-Sized Duck” _? Because of that thing from high school? Remember?”_

_“I remember.” The door swung open with a click._

_Ok, he was definitely tipsier than she was. She hoisted his arm over her shoulder and the two of them struggled into the apartment, which was filled with empty boxes and piles of stuff Bea was still sorting through – even three months after moving._

_“This is perfect! I have my dream job, you have yours –”_

_“I don’t even get_ paid _yet,” said Beatrice, from the kitchen, where she was pouring them both glasses of water._

_“You will though,” he said, confident of this fact. Bea was amazing – of course they’d hire her after she finished her internship._

_“I don’t know, Ben.”_

_He looked up. She was holding out a glass of water, and in the light of the apartment – which was significantly better than the taxi, or the dimly lit street, he could see that her eyes were watery. She looked tired, withdrawn – sad. It was enough to sober him up a little. He sat up and took a long sip of water._

_“Are you ok?”_

_She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. He lifted his arm and she curled into him, resting her head on his chest. He could feel her breathing for a moment – and then suddenly she was shaking._

_He held her, his mind racing – trying to remember what they’d been doing that day. Had he said something? Done something? Drunk-Ben wasn’t exactly the most sensitive of people, but he’d been far drunker than this before and never upset her. They argued of course, all the time, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever made her this_ sad _._

_“Bea, please tell me what I’ve done, so I can make it better. I really don’t know, I’m sorry – I know I probably should, and it’s shitty to ask you to tell me when I’ve obviously upset you – but I’m lost.”_

_“It’s not you,” she mumbled into his chest. She sat up, wiped her eyes and looked at him. Bea wasn’t a big crier, and it did something weird to his stomach whenever he saw her like this. The first time had been after Hero’s party; then when her father died; and now this._

_“Is it work?”_

_“It’s not work.”_

_“Well, is it someone I know? Is Hero ok? Leo?”_

_She shook her head. “I mean – they’re fine.” She wouldn’t stop looking at him. It was disconcerting. “Ben, it’s_ us _.”_

_“Us what?”_

_She closed her eyes, let out a breath. “I think we should break up.”_

_It was almost like he refused to hear her. He heard the words – each word, one after the other, separately – but not together, not in any way that meant he would have to actually comprehend their meaning._

_She had started to cry again, which made it worse. When Beatrice cried, she cried silently – tear after tear rolling down her cheeks while her shoulders shook. He was stuck to the sofa, confined to watching her, watching this happen._

_“I’m sorry Ben. I don’t know why I waited so long. It was just… I don’t want to lose you. I don’t_ want _to break up with you, even. And tonight – you were being so_ you _, and I was so happy, and I thought maybe – fuck it.”_

_She paused to take several gulps of water, spilling a bit on his leg._

_“Then you got that call, and you started talking about your job, and you sounded so excited – and I’m so proud of you, I really am – you’ve worked so hard for this and you deserve it. But…”_

_Ben was trying to say something, to stop her, but he couldn’t find his voice, let alone any words._

_“I was going to ask you to move here. A week ago. I was going to ask you to move here.”_

_Her eyes fell into her lap, as if she suddenly couldn’t look at him anymore._

_“We’ve been together for five years, and in all that time, we’ve only lived together for three months – and that was because of that fire in your dorm, and you didn’t have classes, and…”_

_He remembered. He remembered drinking her coffee in the morning, cooking her dinner in the evening, waking up next to her; and thinking that this was the only thing he needed – everything else was insignificant._

_“The whole time – when I was on my gap year, and then we were at different universities – I missed you like crazy. But I had loads of work, and in some ways it was better not to be distracted – and we still saw each other at the weekends._

_“And then you stayed in Auckland, and I moved to Wellington, and we never talked about moving in together, we just kept doing the long distance thing because we thought we were so good at it and we thought it would be temporary and I don’t know._

_“But I miss you. And I can’t do this – not having you there, not waking up next to you, never knowing if we’ll ever end up in the same place._

_“I was going to ask you to move here.”_

_He had no idea what to say._

_“But now you have this job. This wonderful amazing job that you earned, and is so perfect for you – and what girl wouldn’t want a boyfriend whose job is feminism and video games? I mean, seriously!” For a second, she was herself again, but the next time she spoke the sadness was back. “I can’t take this away from you. But I can’t do this – being with you, not being with you, stagnating.”_

_It took Ben a long moment – longer than if he hadn’t still been a little tipsy – to process everything she’d said. As soon as he was done, he wanted to throw up – that could also have been the alcohol, but he wasn’t a getting-sick drunk._

_“So you’re breaking up with me.” He sounded hollow._

_She nodded, still not looking at him._

_“But – don’t understand? This job… is a job. I’ll call her right now – tell her I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. I’d do anything, Bea, I don’t want to lose you either.”_

_“No,” she said forcefully, with a shake of her head. “I couldn’t live with myself if you lost this opportunity over me.”_

_“But you’re saying if I take it, I lose you.”_

_“I don’t know Ben. Yes, no, right now? Maybe in ten years’ time we’ll both be in completely different places, ready to finally do this for real. Or maybe – maybe I’m doing us both a favour.”_

_“How is anything about this good?”_

_“We’re fundamentally different people! You want horse-sized ducks and I want duck-sized horses. We’re amazing together, but if we carry on with this, we’ll end up just holding each other back. I don’t want to be the person who you resent in twenty years’ time – I want to be the person who supports you, even if it means giving you up.”_

_“This makes no sense.”_

_“Yes it does. And I’ve made up my mind – I’ve been thinking about this all week, trying to think of any way around it – and I_ can’t _.”_

_“You’re breaking up with me.” How many times had he said this?_

_“It’s the best thing to do.”_

_“Right.” His head was spinning – he was going to have a killer headache the next morning. “Well, in that case, I should probably go.”_

_He stood up, walked to the door. She didn’t move, and when he looked back she was curled up exactly where he been, tracing the outline he’d left in the sofa cushions with her finger._

_He bit back tears of his own. This was actually happening. She wasn’t jumping up, running after him, desperate to take it all back. She really meant it when she said she’d thought about it._

_“You can break up with me,” he said into the silence, “but you can’t stop me being in love with you. What do you plan to do about that?”_

_There was no answer. He opened the door and it slammed shut behind him._

 

 

“Oof.” Meg let out a low whistle.

“Yep.” Ben wiped his eyes, which even six months later got a little watery at the memory of that night. It would be a few seconds before he could manage full sentences again.

“See, I knew she was a bit crazy, but I didn’t realise Bea was literally insane.” Meg was shaking her head. “She gives up the love of her life because she thinks your jobs are incompatible?”

“It wasn’t that simple.” Ben was surprised to find himself defending her. “And I didn’t exactly handle it well, either.”

Unless a week holed up in Pedrazar’s guest bedroom, sobbing and drinking cold cups of tea, counted as handling it well. And while she was the one who wouldn’t look at him now, _he_ had been the one who ignored all her calls and texts in the first month after they broke up. Followed by a month of begging her to come back, culminating in a night of drunk dialling that ended with him waking up in the dumpster outside her building.

Not a memory he really wanted to dwell on.

“I’m not saying you did. You two are the most volatile, self-destructive people I know – I saw what Bea was like afterwards and I now know she was the one who did the breaking up. I can’t imagine what Pedro and Balthazar have to deal with – I should go get them a box of chocolates or something.”

Meg was back to making fun of him again, which was actually a relief.

“Yeah, I kind of fell apart.”

“No kidding. Oh my god, this explains the macaroni thing!”

“What macaroni thing?”

“You don’t remember? This is brilliant. I found you one night outside our apartment with _ten_ boxes of macaroni cheese. You said you had an urgent delivery for Bea, then you threw up all over my shoes – you still owe me, by the way – and dropped them all. Fed us for a week.”

“Why are we going over all this, again?”

“Because you are going to call Beatrice, _tonight_ , and put all this weird shit behind you. Please for the love of god (hey, the love gods – sorry) put us all out of our misery.”

 

 

Four hours later, contrary to every ounce of sanity he had left, he found himself dialling the number Meg had given him earlier.

He got their voicemail. _Please leave a message after the tone_. It didn’t surprise him that they hadn’t bothered to re-record it yet.

The beep came too early and he panicked. “Bea, hi. Beatrice. It’s me. Ben. Benedick. In case you, er, forgot.” Nice one, Ben. Smooth. _Oh god, she’s going to laugh at me, isn’t she? Or worse – she’s going to think I want to get back together, or that I’m just assuming that we will now that we live in the same city_. “Actually, maybe this is a really bad idea. I’m sorry, can you just forget I ever left this?”

He hung up. Took several deep breaths. Tried to ignore the fact that that had been a total disaster and she would never speak to him again.

He was about to throw the piece of paper in the bin when he saw that Meg had written something on the back.

_Don’t think I won’t come after you if you chicken out. Love, M._

Ben swore.

The second time, he was prepared for the beep. “No, I’m sorry, but – this is Ben, again, by the way.“ Smooth as ever. “I’m actually in Wellington until Monday – staying with Pedrazar.” Great, he was lying to her already. “That’s how I got your number, which…” Better to at least save Meg’s skin. “I really need to talk to you. Can we maybe meet for coffee, or something? Give me a call. My number hasn’t changed.”


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, she only needed to go as far as the street outside their apartment building – where Ben was walking towards her.

She didn’t recognise him at first. Or, she did, but she already saw Ben everywhere – the tall guy on the bus, a hot dog vendor, the guy-with-the-popcorn at the cinema – and at first thought nothing of it.

It was only when _he_ saw _her_ that she realised. He jumped when their eyes met.  Actually jumped, and bumped into a woman hurrying past him, who glared at both of them. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

He had stopped when he first saw her. Now, he closed the distance.

"What are you doing here –?"

"I thought you were at work –"

They trailed off simultaneously, the unspoken words disappearing into the night.

"I get Friday evenings off," she said, not sure why she was telling him.

He was looking at her strangely. It took her a second to realise that he was probably wondering if she'd got his messages.

She wanted to say something, but now that they were actually face to face, every thought died on her tongue. She kept glancing at him, then quickly averting her gaze to anything _but_ him - she wondered if (hoped) he was doing the same.

A long moment passed like this, the two of them in silence.

Then he said, "Sorry. You've obviously got somewhere to be."

"No," she said quickly.

He cocked his head ever so slightly. Like a dog, she thought. Ben always was more of a dog person, despite his love of cat t-shirts.

"So you came out here to...?"

"I was actually on my way to see you." She sounded angry - it was the only way she could trust herself to get the words out. She crossed her arms across her chest. "I got your messages.”

She could tell from the look on his face that he was still trying to figure her out. They’d been able to do this in seconds when they were together; a quick shared glance was enough to tell her exactly what he was thinking.

It had taken her a while (longer than she hoped and much longer than she was happy with) to put her guard up again. She’d physically spent hours in front of the mirror, running through conversations in her head, picturing his face and forcing hers to remain neutral. After two months of crying _a lot_ , while Meg stroked her hair and alternated between bringing her water and ice cream, she’d limited the tears to her bedroom – to herself.

Her definition of ‘getting over him’ had meant a careful stripping down of who she had been when she was with Ben, back to who she was before – emotionally, at least. She refused to be one of those people who held on to a relationship even long after it was gone. His box of stuff had gone in the first week (except for the flamingo, Floyd, which she had been unable to force herself to get rid of, but Meg didn’t have to know about that one. And the t-shirt she slept in each night for the first month – but she was grieving, she had to allow herself _something_ ). The pictures of him on her bedroom wall came down, and anything else that reminded her of him but Hero and Meg convinced her not to get rid of (postcards, ticket stubs, the first- and limited-editions of the games he’d designed) went in a box, which she sealed and stuffed in the back of her closet.

She was only now realising how pathetically _pointless_ all of that had been.

Maybe not entirely pointless. As the two of them stood facing each other, she knew she could trust her face to remain impassive. Her voice was a little less reliable, but she could iron out the wobble, force herself to think carefully before she spoke. She kept her arms crossed, her feet planted firmly on the ground, and hoped that if she kept up this stance, the physical reminder would be enough to keep her mentally distant and controlled.

He was waiting for her to say something, worse than she was about the whole ‘acting awkward and uncomfortable around each other’ thing. Fair enough, since she was the one who’d broken up with him. Except, how is it fair to call someone and then expect them to do all the work?

“There’s a really great coffee place that’s open till midnight. It’ll take five minutes, if you’re interested.”

“Coffee?” He raised an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes. “I happen to like coffee _and_ tea. It’s not mutually exclusive.”

“It sounds great.” Neither of them moved. “You, er, lead the way.”

“Right.” She started walking. She didn’t have particularly long legs, but her natural walking pace was fast enough that Ben had to raise his (even if only slightly) to keep up.

He did – keep up – even though they barely exchanged a word for the entirety of the _seven_ -minute walk. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. The two of them, not the quietest people in the world, had somehow managed to perfect the art of the companionable silence while they were together. Even more impressive considering that Ben was some sort of compulsive silence-filler. Eighty percent of the stupid things she had heard him say had been during awkward silences, and she had heard him say a lot of stupid things.

What was strange was being alone with him. It was a Friday evening near the city centre, so they were far from _alone_ -alone, but they hadn’t spent any time together, just the two of them, since arguing in the car four months ago. Not for the first time, she wondered why he’d even called her. She was pretty sure he’d stayed with Pedro and Balthazar before, and no-one had felt the need to even warn her.

The coffee place was on the corner of a quiet back street, out of the way of the main roads and safely out of the reach of tourists.

She pushed the door open and the warmth from inside hit her, pleasantly overwhelming in contrast to how cold it was outside. Ben followed, and she heard the door swing shut behind them, the welcome bell barely chiming, and only at the last moment.

There were a couple of people occupying corner tables, but one of the many things she liked about this place was how quiet she could trust it to be.

“Beatrice.” The owner greeted her warmly. Miranda’s daughter, Juliet, had been in the year below Beatrice at high school in Wellington. “The usual?”

“Yes, and…?” She turned to Ben.

“I’m sure whatever you’re having is good.”

Beatrice paid and found them a table out of earshot of the other customers and far enough away from the door to avoid the draft. She draped her coat over the back of the chair and sat back.

Ben was looking around, enjoying some of the odd décor and – “is that an original?” “what even _is_ that?” “ok, this place is seriously cool.” She took the opportunity to study his face, search for changes that a quick once-over couldn’t pick up on.

He hadn’t grown a beard, which reassured her that his “ _if we ever break up, I’m growing a half-beard just to spite you. Or a neckbeard!_ ” had no basis in reality. She was annoyed with herself for caring so much, but she liked that nothing about his face was different – no sudden changes in hair style or colour, dramatic scars or stubble. His fashion sense was as terrible as ever (although she couldn’t help noticing that she’d never seen him wear any of the t-shirts she had ever borrowed, even the ones she’d given back, not in person or in the photos she couldn’t avoid seeing on Facebook). He seemed taller, but he always had done when she hadn’t seen him in a while.

“How’d you find this place?” he said, his eyes returning to her.

She shrugged. “I’ve been going here since before I moved to Auckland.”

“You’ve kept this hidden for a while.” He sounded a little affronted that she’d never shown him before.

For some reason she found herself saying, “I haven’t even shared it with Hero.” She hoped he didn’t dwell on what that meant, partly because she had no idea herself.

Instead, he changed the subject. “I’m sorry about calling you out of the blue. If that was weird, or…”

She avoided answering him directly, because that would have meant admitting that yes, it was weird; weird to be sitting in her favourite coffee shop with her ex-boyfriend (and the love of her life – no, _shut up_ ) with no Hero or Meg or Pedro to keep the conversation firmly on safe ground. Not just weird but fucking terrifying.

Miranda set the cups of coffee in front of both of them and went to attend to another customer. The distraction gave her a chance to gather her thoughts.

“You’re staying with Pedro and Balthazar. How’s that?”

Ben fake-gagged, obviously relieved they’d found something to talk about. “They’re disgustingly happy. And they won’t let me hang around the apartment during the day. Pedro literally kicked me out.”

If he was expecting to surprise her, he’d have to try harder. “Been there. Done that. These days I don’t even try.”

“There’s worse.”

“What could be worse than ‘disgustingly happy’?”

“Didn’t you once say that the only way you would ever get married was if I paid you, and probably not even then?”

She ignored the fact that he’d broken the unspoken rule: _no references to the fact that we used to date_.

“Yeah, because it’s a patriarchal heteronormative institution, and the way people talk about it only adds to this culture of guilt and pressure that eventually forces everyone to –” She stopped, noticing the look on his face.

“You can’t tell anyone, but I found a ring.”

“How do even know it was an engagement ring?”

Ben gave her a look that said _do-you-not-know-our-terrible-friends_. Bea tried not to notice how long it had taken for her to be able to read him at a glance again (not long enough). Out loud, he said,“Neither Pedro nor Balthazar owns any jewellery. It was obvious anyway.”

“So whose is it?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know, and until I do, I can’t talk to either of them about it in case I talk to _the wrong one_ and ruin the surprise.”

She had to admit that was pretty funny. “What you should do,” she said, “is move it, and see who panics.”

“That’s… brilliant.” He sounded impressed.

“I know, I’m a genius.”

He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and for a moment, nothing was weird at all. She had forgotten how easy he was to talk to, how hard it had been to ignore him for months, to ignore that urge to slip into the familiar as soon as they got within a few feet of each other. Why had she resisted this for so long?

She remembered. Her smiled faded. She tucked her hair behind her ears and took a long sip of the coffee.

Ben was here, she wasn’t sure why, but he was here and they were talking and it was nice –maybe this meant that one day, they could be friends again. She really hoped so. But it would be stupid to let her guard down now, before she’d had any time to think about it, or any time to establish proper boundaries. She sipped her coffee and focused on that now, reminding herself of all the reasons why she had stayed away in the first place.

 

_“You don’t understand. If Ben walked in that door right now – I’d probably jump his bones. Or burst into tears. Or both.”_

_“And that’s a problem because…?” Meg sounded sympathetic, but she wasn’t taking this break up as seriously as Beatrice needed her to._

_She and Ben had fought all the time, and everyone was acting like this was just another one of their fights, but they’d never broken up before. This hadn’t even been a fight. Beatrice had almost wanted Ben to turn around and fight her – yell at her, tell her that she was giving up, behaving like a coward. Instead, he’d walked away, breaking her heart as he did so._

_He should have stayed, she told herself. They would have yelled at each other, but maybe, just maybe, he would have talked her out of it. She told herself that would have been a mistake, that her reasons were solid and a little bit of kiss-and-make-up never solved any problems. But she couldn’t deny that a part of her had been looking for him to dissuade her._

_Meg rubbed her back. “Do you want something to eat?”_

_“I’m not hungry.”_

_“No-one can survive on chips for three days. Let me make you an omelette.”_

_Beatrice nodded weakly, and collapsed into the space Meg had been occupying on the sofa. She heard the sound of eggs cracking, and her stomach rumbled. Ok, so maybe she was a bit hungry._

_Meg’s voice drifted over from the kitchen area – there was no wall dividing the kitchen from the living room, just the back of the sofa and a carefully placed table. “Hero just texted to say she’s on her way. She’ll be over in five minutes. Ursula was flying down tomorrow anyway, but she’ll come straight here in the morning.”_

_Beatrice felt a rush of affection for her best friend. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know. I’m fine just lying here all day by myself.”_

_“Of course you are.” Beatrice could hear the eye-roll in her voice._

_“Seriously, though, if you_ really _care about me, you’ll take away my phone and hide it somewhere.”_

_“What, so you can persist in this ridiculous idea that you and Ben are broken up?”_

_“We_ are _,” she said, and started crying. She wasn’t sure what was worse – the crying or the fact that she no longer cared enough to feel embarrassed._

_“Ok fine,” said Meg, in a tone that said if-you-say-so. “And he knows that too?”_

_“He’s the one who’s ignoring all my texts.”_

_“How many have sent him?”_

_She checked. It didn’t help to know. “I don’t want to tell you.”_

_“That’s it, I_ am _taking your phone.”_

_Beatrice surrendered it, and Meg dumped the omelette in her lap as replacement. She heard her go into her bedroom, and made a mental note to look for her phone while Meg was at work the next day._

_There was a knock on the door as Meg re-emerged and suddenly Hero was there, knocking the now-empty plate onto the floor and submerging Beatrice in blonde hair and hugs._

_“Nice to see you too,” said Meg, but she didn’t sound annoyed._

_“I’m sorry. It sounded like Bea was dying on the phone. What’s happened?”_

_“Apparently, she and Ben broke up.”_

_“It_ happened. _” By this point, Beatrice wasn’t sure what was worse: breaking up with your boyfriend or spending the next few hours convincing your friends that it actually happened._

_“Oh, Beatrice…” Hero, at least, sounded suitably shaken. “Do you need me to go and beat him up for you?”_

_That made both Meg and Beatrice laugh. “I’ve taught you well,” said Meg._

_“No,” she sighed. “I just need some time.”_

_“You did the right thing calling me,” Hero told Meg. She turned to Beatrice. “Where’s your phone?”_

_“Dealt with.” Meg was back in the kitchen, putting something on for her and Hero, neither of whom had eaten dinner. It was a talent she kept well hidden, but Meg happened to be an amazing cook._

_“Ok, I know it was a long time ago, and we were in high school, and it was_ nothing _close to you and Ben, but I did have to deal with a lot of negative attention, and I learnt some pretty important things when Claudio and I broke up.”_

_“You mean when he acted like a total dick and you deserved so much better?” Bea said angrily._

_“Right. Anyway, I think you could use some advice.”_

_“I’m listening.”_

_“It’s going to be hard, but if you really want to get over him, you need to_ let go. _That can be an excruciatingly slow process, but we’re all here for you._

_“Stay away from your phone. Don’t go near social media. The most important thing is that you cut Ben off, just for a little bit, and take a break for yourself and your mental health.”_

_Hero’s voice suddenly perked up. “I just remembered! I made this list of books and films that really helped me distract myself when I was feeling at my worst. I’ll email it to you.”_

_Beatrice gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks for being here.”_

_“Always.” Hero stood up and turned to Meg. “You guys have any good DVDs? We are in need of some serious distraction.”_

 

Opposite him now, she remembered what he’d said, the night they’d broken up.

_“You can’t stop me being in love with you. What do you plan to do about that?”_

The Ben sitting in front of her didn’t seem any different to the Ben she’d broken up with, the Ben she’d been in love with ( _was still in love with_ ).

But he had to be, right? They were over each other, that was the point. That was why he’d called her, why she’d answered, why they were hanging out now and talking and it wasn’t weird or painful ( _except it was_ ) and when the evening ended, they would go their separate ways and the next time she saw him, it would be as friends.

Right?

The next time she saw him. It was unlikely that she would see him again before he left on Monday, unless they all got together to do something. It could be weeks before they were next face to face, and it might still be too weird to resume texting ( _to admit to the fact that she’d never even deleted his_ texts _, let alone his number_ ).

The silence had dragged on for a while by this point, although they had both been making silent excuses for it by sipping coffee every time it verged on uncomfortable.

Ben, of course, broke it – and loudly.

“That isn’t – that’s YOU!” He was laughing and pointing, not _at_ her but at the space above her head, where – she turned – there was an unmistakable picture of her twelve-year-old self, mouth covered in foam from the hot chocolate that had been her regular order for years. She had forgotten how bad her fashion sense had been.

“Nobody finds out about this, ok?”

“And I’d thought this evening couldn’t get better.”

“Yeah, well, drop it – or you’ll find it gets dramatically worse.”

He was still smiling, though – still smiling as they moved on to discussing the pros and cons of binge-watching on Netflix (Bea was adamant that it was the natural way to go, while Ben viewed it as a test of human strength and willpower), the lesser-known dangers of cows, and potential ideas for Ben’s next video game.

By the time they’d even come close to exhausting all potential conversation topics, the shop was closing and all the other customers had left.

“Shit,” Bea looked at her watch, “I have work tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you back,” said Ben. “It’s on my way anyway.”

They left, Miranda looking only mildly annoyed – more amused than anything. It was colder than before outside, and darker. It took them less time to get back, though, hurrying to escape the cold.

They stopped in the doorway, neither quite ready to say goodbye – certainly not willing to be the first.

“You’ll tell me who panics, right?”

It took Ben a second, but he grinned and promised that he would.

“And, um,” she resisted the urge to chicken out and pushed through, “it would be nice to see you again before you leave.”

“Before I – ?” Ben looked momentarily confused. “Oh. Fuck. I forgot.”

She frowned. “Forgot what?”

“Forgot to tell you. That was kind of the whole point of this, actually.” He paused. She had no idea how to feel about where this was going. “I’m moving to Wellington.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! :) More chapters to come soon.


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